


Lens

by Aishuu



Series: Hooked [4]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Community: temps_mort, Fluff, M/M, Sweet, The Livejournal exodus, Timed Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1876278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aishuu/pseuds/Aishuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuji looks at Tezuka through multiple lenses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lens

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Sweet but before Fun. It's the final shortfic in the Hooked series. I consider it the final fic since I go by publication date to determine order.
> 
> This was written in 2003 in 80 minutes for the temps_mort community. The challenge was to use "silver, auto focus, desultory and crisp" in a fic.

Three months after they began dating, Fuji caved into the inevitable and purchased a pair of quality hiking boots. Tezuka didn’t go hiking often, but Fuji knew that something inside of the other boy ached for the untamed wilderness that was rapidly being encroached upon by the urban sprawl.

They didn’t have time to slip away often, but after their third overnight hike, Fuji knew that his feet would regret it if he didn’t get them the proper support. Sneakers were well and good for the occasional ramble, but Tezuka was a true hiker, and Fuji knew he was holding him back.

It wasn’t something Tezuka complained about, of course, but Fuji understood that the outdoors man in Tezuka was aching to try the more rugged paths that Fuji couldn’t attempt in his less-than-ideal gear.

So Fuji bought the boots.

They were a nice light brown color, the color of good leather, and Fuji liked them. They were attractive, and Fuji had a good eye for beauty in even the smallest things. That was why he was a photographer, and one of the main reasons he was so attracted to Tezuka - the other boy was stunning.

Fuji was desultory - unlike most photographers, he didn’t have a preferred medium or subject. He would work in black and white or color without a second thought, take shots of people or landscapes - it didn’t matter. He was intrigued by everything.

It was a problem, really. He was interested in everything and it made it difficult to focus on projects. Being a generalist made it hard to create a cohesive portfolio, and he knew that he would have a difficult time if he ever decided to pursue photography as a career, because people wanted themes.

Recently, though, he found himself growing more and more fascinated by his boyfriend. He had yet to take a bad picture of Tezuka, and the odds against that were ridiculous. But it was the truth.

It seemed that it was impossible to take a bad picture of Tezuka. No matter what angle, mood or lighting, Tezuka always appeared perfect whenever the film was developed, and Fuji knew exactly why artists became obsessed with certain models.

He knew that it was a trial to Tezuka, something to be endured, rather than savored. Tezuka tried his best to cope with Fuji’s incessant need to capture life on film, but Fuji sometimes wondered if he was only being humored. Tezuka could appreciate beauty, but he had a streak of practicality that Fuji sometimes found amazingly irritating.

Like what happened with the boots.

As they began to plan their fourth day hike, Fuji casually mentioned that Tezuka could try a slightly more challenging course so he could break his new boots in.

Tezuka, who had been twirling a pen in his hands as they wrote out a list of supplies they would need, sat back thoughtfully. “You should break them in first,” he said.

“That’s what the hike is for,” Fuji replied. “I may get a few blisters, but it’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before... and in the long run, there will be less pain.”

Tezuka, to his credit, didn’t say anything about Fuji being a masochist. He understood Fuji’s reasoning, the short-term sacrifice for long-term gain. It was something they dealt with daily. “You should soak them,” he told Fuji.

“Soak them?” Fuji echoed curiously. “Won’t that weaken the leather?”

The light glinted off Tezuka’s glasses, and Fuji could have sworn amusement glittered in Tezuka’s eyes. “It’s an old trick. You put them on, get your feet wet, and let them dry to your feet. It helps them fit better.”

“Wear wet shoes?” Fuji shuddered at the suggestion.

“And socks. You need to wear socks to get them to mold properly,” Tezuka said.

Fuji would have accused him of teasing, but Tezuka was always serious when it came to hiking. “That’s horrible.”

“It works.”

And that was the crux of the matter. Tezuka’s dangerous practicality came into play, and Fuji found himself wearing wet boots the next day after practice to prepare for the hike. Tezuka hadn’t pressed the issue, but Fuji knew where matters had stood.

Still, he would have preferred blisters to the squishy, disgusting sensation of wet socks.

The things he did for love.

It worked both ways, though. He knew that Tezuka had an immense amount of patience with him as well, especially when it came to hiking.

Tezuka hiked to see the scenery, and escape from the pressures of civilized life. Tezuka liked being alone, but luckily Fuji’s presence didn’t infringe of that. They were companions, and they were able to be together without having to entertain the other.

It was amazing, sometimes. Fuji could remember being with Tezuka for hours and not saying anything. Fuji was more social than Tezuka, enjoying company and the entertainment he derived from people, but the reason he loved photography and literature was because they were solo pursuits.

When Tezuka hiked, Fuji followed to photograph Tezuka.

He enjoyed turning the auto focus on the camera off those times, and shifting to manual means, because Tezuka didn’t move through the woods quickly. In the woods, Tezuka seemed to change, and lose a bit of the directness that so characterized his personality.

Basically, Tezuka would slow down, and take time to be himself.

Fuji was fascinated by this gentler Tezuka, the Tezuka who would pause to study a particular tree, pick up some litter a careless hiker had dropped or stare at a waterfall, marveling in his own quiet way as the water cascaded down into silvery pools. Rarely would Tezuka touch anything; his family believed in the Leave No Trace philosophy, and would do their best not to disturb nature. Only when he was on his private land would he actually interact with his surroundings, and then he would charm Fuji by skillfully building a campfire to cook their lunch.

All the while, Fuji would photograph him. He would almost always focus on a point just behind Tezuka, which gave Tezuka’s features a softer effect. Fuji tended to focus on Tezuka’s glasses to bring out his eyes, but hiking was different. Hiking brought out a softer side, which required softer images.

As they crested the hill on their fourth trip, Fuji watched as the light turned Tezuka’s hair into honey. He made sure the flash was off before maneuvering himself around to get the perfect angle.

Click!

Tezuka finally turned to him. “It’s time for a break,” he announced, pulling out a canteen to take a long, slow drink. Fuji watched couldn’t resist taking another photo, this time bringing Tezuka into sharp focus as a few drops of water escaped to trail down the strong collumn of his throat.

Click!

A sigh came from Tezuka, who handed over the canteen. “Put your camera down, it’s a break,” he said. It was the closest he would come to complaining.

Fuji smiled and tasted the water, which was a bit warm, but still felt good after all the long hike. Pausing after a moment, a mischievous thought occurred to him. “This is an indirect kiss,” he said, moving closer to his boyfriend.

Tezuka, though, had spent too much time around Fuji to be upset by his teasing. “Wouldn’t you prefer the real thing?” he asked in a serious voice.

Fuji was a bit surprised at Tezuka’s directness, even though he knew he shouldn’t be. Tezuka’s inherent old fashion nature sometimes conflicted with his attempt to be truthful, and it was interesting when his modesty lost the battle.

He wanted that kiss, finding them sweet and drugging. The temptation made his body tighten, and he carefully screwed the cap back on before coming to stand before Tezuka, reaching out to wrap his arms around Tezuka’s waist.

It was always irritating to him how much sorter he was than his teammates. He was still waiting for that long dreamed of teenaged growth spurt, but he had a sinking feeling that it was going to pass him by, and his frame would always remain slender and delicate, and too short.

Needless to say, it wasn’t an idea that thrilled him.

Over the mountains, the light continued to sink, and Fuji watched as it hit Tezuka’s glasses. The lenses, a pricey pair that were made to reflect harmful rays, shone in an eerie fashion, and Fuji found himself distracted.

Before he knew it, his hands freed themselves and traveled to Tezuka’s face. The metal frames were something that was so much a part of Tezuka’s visage that hesitated for a moment before his nimble fingers relieved Tezuka’s face of its burden.

He stepped back quickly, and Tezuka blinked in surprise as his eyes adjusted. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Fuji gave a smile which Tezuka probably saw fuzzily. “I wanted to try them on,” he said, sliding them onto his face.

His world spun for a second, and he shut his eyes, trying to cope. He hadn’t realized that Tezuka’s vision was so poor. Fuji wondered why the lenses weren’t as thick as Inui’s as he forced himself to remain upright. “How do they look on me?”

Tezuka shut his left eye and tilted his head. “Not bad. You shouldn’t wear other people’s glasses, though. You can damage your eyes.”

“I’m amazed you can see without these things. The prescription is... stronger than I was expecting,” Fuji admitted, sliding them down his nose so he could look over at Tezuka with unimpeded vision.

Tezuka’s slight smile rewarded him. “Try shutting your eyes and looking through just the right lens,” Tezuka told him.

Fuji did as he was instructed, and a gasp of involuntary surprise escaped as he realized that he could see perfectly. Despite rumors to the contrary, he had 20/20 vision, so that meant the lens was simply made of glass. “What?”

“When I was young, I injured my left eye, and though it’s been healing, it will never function normally. I can see perfectly fine out of the right one. I don’t need glasses to survive, but if I don’t wear them, the right eye strains itself trying to compensate. The reason you’re dizzy is because of the disparity in the lenses.”

Tezuka actually seemed to be more amused as he stole his glasses back, watching as Fuji blinked to try to adjust for the vision change again. “They did look good on you, but in a few years, you can pick out a frame that’s made just for you. It’s my understanding that most people wear reading glasses by the time they’re forty.”

Fuji scowled at the thought. Playing with glasses was one thing - the thought of being required to wear them was quite another.

“Tezuka?”

“Yes?” Tezuka asked as he replaced the canteen in his bag.

“Can you take off your glasses for a second?” Fuji requested. His camera had found its way into his hands again, and Tezuka could easily guess what Fuji was after.

“I thought you preferred candid photography,” Tezuka said, and Fuji could hear the suppressed irritation even as he complied, pocketing the wire frames in their case.

Tezuka was patient as Fuji arranged the shot, finding a large gray stone that was backed by nothing but sky. He toyed with Tezuka’s hair for a moment, running his fingers through it, which Tezuka endured silently. There was a watchfulness in his eye as Fuji told Tezuka to stand facing away towards the edge, and then turn his head back toward the camera.

It was one of the shots a photographer dreamed of. The mid-afternoon sun turned Tezuka into Apollo, golden and glowing, and his carefully neutral expression made him seem secretive, like a sage who knew the answers. He was perfect, and the way the cloudless sapphire blue sky framed him made him seem like eternity surrounded him.

It was a beautiful shot, with a physical perfect model, posed in the middle of one of the most breath taking vistas Fuji had ever visited.

When Fuji developed it, though, he realized that he missed Tezuka’s glasses.


End file.
